


Sip To This

by Gemmaa



Category: GOT7
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Drunk Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Intoxication, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-10 21:05:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15957527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemmaa/pseuds/Gemmaa
Summary: The nights still young after a successful recording.





	Sip To This

Bambam is way too fucking drunk. Jackson’s not doing great himself, but Bambam got beat by the ugly end of the alcohol stick. Bambam wasn’t even this bad when Jackson took him out for his twentieth birthday. Really, Jackson’s never seen Bambam this fucked up before. They had finished some recording and somehow managed to call an Uber – well, Jackson called the Uber while Bambam screeched about wanting to go home in the background – but they got their ride home.

Bambam is slumped over against Jackson, his head pillowed on Jackson’s shoulder, breathing deep and heavy like he’s sleeping. Jackson’s embarrassed, too aware of the way the Uber driver’s eyes keep finding them in the rear view mirror. He can feel his cheeks getting red, but not enough to shove Bambam off of him. Bambam does fall asleep during the ride, dozing lightly against Jackson, it isn’t hard with the smooth ride, the quiet of the night. It’s late, verging on one-thirty in the morning, Jackson’s surprised he’s even still awake to be honest.

The driver pulls up outside of their apartment and Jackson sighs, nudging Bambam.

“Bambam, Bambam, come on. We’re home, dude.”

Bambam moans softly in protest, “No,” he huffs.

“We’re getting out of the car,” Jackson says, as he opens the door and lets the warm night air roll across Bambam’s skin.

“Don’t let him puke in my car,” The driver says, more of a warning than anything else.

“He’s not a puker,” Jackson says, “He’s just tired.” he gets out first and Bambam wobbles in the seat without Jackson there to hold him in place. Jackson leans back in and wraps his fingers around Bambam’s wrist, tugging as he urges Bambam out of the car, “Come on.”

Bambam finally gets his body working as he slips from the car and into Jackson’s arms, leaning heavily against Jackson’s chest, his hands bracing on Jackson’s forearms. The driver shakes his head at them and Jackson closes the door a little more forcefully than necessary. He feels a weird anger sliding down his spine and he wishes he hadn’t given the driver a tip, he wishes Bambam hadn’t gotten so fucked up.

“I’m pretty sure the Uber guy thinks we’re gay,” Jackson says, “Because you’re a handsy drunk.”

“So?” Bambam says, “Nothin’ wrong with being gay,” he mumbles, clinging to Jackson like his life depended on it.

Jackson has a hell of a time leading Bambam up the stairs of their building, dragging him towards the elevator because no fucking way was he attempting to climb the flights of stairs with Bambam stumbling around and hanging off of him like an oversized Capuchin monkey.

“D–Dont drop me,” Bambam whines, his hands tightening on Jackson’s arms.

“Chill, I got you,” Jackson says, partially amused and partially irritated by Bambam’s behavior. Jackson admittedly had only been in college for a short time, but Bambam was reminding him of one of those high school kids who somehow found their way into a college party, got in over their head and needed to be saved. Jackson wasn’t exactly the best at saving people, but he was all Bambam had at the moment.

Jackson somehow manages to get them both into the apartment and shuts the door behind them. Bambam slumps against him again, his forehead pressing against Jackson’s shoulder. Jackson can feel Bambam’s breath hot and damp against the skin of his neck and it makes him shiver where he’s pressed against the door with Bambam’s body pinning him there. Jackson’s hands settle on Bambam’s hips; he means to use it as leverage to shove Bambam away and guide him to the couch where he can let him sleep off the alcohol, but then he’s holding Bambam’s sharp hips and Bambam digs his fingers into Jackson’s t-shirt and clings.

“You know we’re home, don’t you?” Jackson asks, his eyes fluttering with the effort of keeping them open.

“We are? We made it? You got us home?” Bambam asks, pulling back long enough to look Jackson in the eyes.

Their faces are way too close and Jackson can smell the alcohol on Bambam’s breath. He’s still holding Bambam’s hips in his hands, but he lets out a low laugh, “Yeah, I got us home, buddy.”

“Ugh you’re the best,” Bambam says, “Jackson, you’re the best. You’re my best friend, dude”

“Oh my God, you’re getting sappy on me,” Jackson says, “I’m gonna dump you on the couch and go to bed,” Jackson takes a step forward guiding Bambam towards the couch.

“No!” Bambam says, “No, Jackson, don’t leave me out here!” Bambam sound pathetic and desperate, his hands skating the expanse of Jackson’s back, fingers curling into the fabric of Jackson’s shirt.

“Bambam,” Jackson says with a sigh, “I’m tired.”

“You could atleast put me in my bed!” Bambam whines. God, he was a pathetic drunk. He was whiny and needy, and so unlike the sober Bambam that Jackson was used to. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It was weirdly cute that Bambam was being clingy and how fucking drunk Bambam is that he has to depend on Jackson, but Jackson’s never really liked being the responsible one. 

“Fine,” Jackson says, guiding Bambam backwards towards their bedrooms. Hoping to get Bambam to bed so he could climb into his own waiting bed and get some sleep.

“Jackson,” Bambam says, his eyes barely open as they walk.

“What?” Jackson asks, trying to move the both of them and avoid disrupting anything, It feels next to impossible with the way Bambam’s dragging his feet, the way it feels like he’s trying to climb Jackson’s body instead of walking on his own.

“You didn’t say I was your best friend,” Bambam says.

“What?”

“I told you that Y–You were my best friend and you didn’t say I was your best friend. Am I not your best friend?”

“Bambam,” Jackson says, “Bambam seriously?”

Bambam uses whatever strength he must have left in his body to shove at Jackson and for the second time tonight he’s pinning Jackson to the nearest surface; this time, it’s the hallway in their apartment. His hold isn’t strong and Jackson could easily break out of it, but Bambam’s blinking at him with cloudy brown eyes that look way too serious all of the sudden.

“Am I your best friend?”

“You are my best friend,” Jackson says, feeling weird to admit it even though he knows it’s the truth. He doesn’t like the label, the titles, doesn’t like applying it to anyone anymore, because it just gives more ammo to the relationship, makes the wound that much bigger when the label no longer applies, when things happen, and shit falls apart.

“Good,” Bambam says. He’s close again and he presses his face into Jackson’s neck, “Good,” he says again, his voice muffled by Jackson’s body, “Cuz, I love you, Jackson, a lot..And sometimes I wonder if you even like me.”

“You know I like you. We live together and work together. If I didn’t like you, I think you’d know it by now.”

Why was Bambam being so weird? He was never letting Bambam drink again if this is what happened when Bambam got shitfaced drunk. Bambam is quiet and Jackson sighs.

“I’m taking you to bed.”

“Okay,” Bambam mumbles.

Jackson inches the two of them down the hallway. His own body is beginning to flag under the effects of the alcohol. He feels sluggish and tired, and he doesn’t like the way Bambam’s talking, the feelings he’s flaring to life inside of Jackson. Of course, he cares about Bambam. He loves Bambam, he just doesn’t like to say it, doesn’t like to talk about that kind of stuff anymore.

Jackson opens Bambam’s bedroom door and walks Bambam backwards into it. His bed is mostly cleared off and it’s easy for Jackson to drop him onto the mattress. Well, it was supposed to be easy. He didn’t account for Bambam clinging to him and their combined weight knocking Jackson’s balance off. He didn’t account for toppling forward onto Bambam’s bed with him.

“Ow,” Bambam says quietly.

Jackson lifts himself just enough so he isn’t crushing Bambam against the mattress under them.

“Don’t say ‘ow’, it’s your fault I fell!”

“I’m sorry,” Bambam says, blinking up at Jackson. One of his hands moves from where it’s tangled in Jackson’s shirt, inching upwards so that his fingers skate the line of hair peeking out from Jacksons cap, knocking it off in the process.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jackson asks.

“I don’t know,” Bambam says softly. He rubs his fingers against Jackson’s tresses “Is it bad?”

“It’s weird,” Jackson says, trying to ignore the way the light touch is making sparks erupt in his skin, the way it’s making him shiver, “You’re being fucking weird, Bambam.”

“No, I’m not,” Bambam slurs, his fingers still petting Jackson’s head, the other hand sliding along the expanse of Jackson’s side, “You’re my best friend and I love you,” Bambam says, as if he hadn’t said it mere moments ago out in the hall.

“I’m not sure best friends stroke each other’s hair,” Jackson says. He needs to just get the fuck out of here. Bambam’s drunk, he’s drunk, and Jackson shouldn’t be in here letting Bambam touch him. It’s fucking weird.

“Well, damn, Jackson, it’s not long enough for me to braid it.”

Jackson snorts. There’s the Bambam he knew, the one he was familiar with. It relaxes him a little.

“Alright, well, you’re in bed and I’m going to go to bed too because we have to work tomorrow,” Jackson says, making to push off the mattress.

Bambam grabs his wrist, slender fingers tight around Jackson’s arm.

“Wait, don’t.”

“What?” Jackson asks, blinking down at Bambam.

“Stay here with me,” Bambam says, staring up at Jackson with big serious eyes, “Jackson, stay here.”

“You’re doing that weird shit again,” Jackson says, something in his stomach flopping around. He needs to go.

The hand that had been stroking a line against Jackson’s side inches down, his fingertips slipping under the fabric of his shirt and pressing warm against Jackson’s stomach. Jackson sucks in a sharp breath and he looks down at where Bambam’s hand is touching his skin, stroking light and comforting, and making Jackson’s body extremely confused.

“Bambam?”

“Shh,” Bambam says, “It’s okay, right? It doesn’t feel bad, does it?”

Jackson swallows. Well, fuck, it doesn’t feel bad, but it’s weird and Jackson’s got a heat building in his belly, an interest, something that feels like arousal, but it shouldn’t be there because this is Bambam touching him and not some girl. It’s Bambam, his male best friend, his drunk, male, best friend.

“Bambam…” Jackson says, “I don’t think you know what you’re doing.”

“I do too,” Bambam argues. His eyes are barely slits as his hand slides upwards, running over the expanse of Jackson’s chest, fingers tracing lines through the dark dusting of hair as he inches upwards, “I just want to be close to you.”

“I think we’re already really close,” Jackson argues, “I’ve seen you naked and vice versa.”

“But,” Bambam says, his other hand releasing Jackson’s wrist and going to the bottom of Jackson’s shirt where he’s grabbing and tugging, trying to pull Jackson’s t-shirt off, “But we could be closer, couldn’t we?”

“What the fuck are you saying?” Jackson asks; he’s tired, embarrassed, lost to what Bambam means, what he wants. He hates to admit that he’s scared.

“That I want you to fuck me,” Bambam says, softly, plainly, like he’s asking Jackson for a glass of water or some mundane shit, and not this huge life-altering thing.

“What? Fuck that,” Jackson says with a giggle, “Fuck off. Stop fucking with me, dude.”

Bambam pushes up on his elbows so he and Jackson are suddenly a lot closer than they were a second ago.

“I’m not fucking with you. I want you Jackson. I–”

“Jesus,” Jackson says, “Bambam, are you fucking serious?”

Bambam doesn’t answer, but he leans in and then he’s kissing Jackson’s cheek and it feels way too innocent for the words that are coming out of Bambam’s mouth, for what he’s asking Jackson to do. Jackson sucks in a breath, but he doesn’t shove Bambam away, he doesn’t run like he thinks he should. His brain is slow, sluggish, ticking with thoughts and ideas that seem too strange and unrealistic to be plausible.

Bambam’s mouth is damp, his lips rough as they inch across Jackson’s face, tracking a line from his cheek down to his lips. Bambam pauses, the last second before something happens, the last second for Jackson to shove him down into the mattress and leave him to sleep all this shit off. Bambam’s breath is hot against Jackson’s face and he can feel the ghost of a touch against his mouth.

And then, then Bambam is pressing a soft kiss to Jackson’s lips, testing and quiet.

For the first time since Jackson’s known Bambam he’s single, no girlfriend, no one to report home to. For the first time since they’ve become friends Bambam isn’t with anyone, and now he’s drunk, and he’s kissing Jackson and asking for more than Jackson thinks he can give.

Bambam’s hand is back in Jackson’s hair, cupping the back of his head, stroking at the warm skin of his neck and Jackson can’t fight the shiver that takes him. It’s been awhile since he’s kissed anyone, since he’s hooked up with anyone. He has a bad tendency to work and stay at home, skipping going out with Bambam and the guys, and fuck, maybe he’s lonely, and maybe he’s drunk, but the small voice in the back of his head is telling him what a royally bad idea this is, how he’s bound to fuck up everything if he lets Bambam kiss him right now.

“Bambam,” Jackson says, trying to break away from Bambam’s mouth.

Bambam lets him go, but he lingers, his hands still on Jackson.

“What?”

“You’re drunk..I’m drunk. We’re not thinking straight..You’d never kiss me if you were sober.”

“Don’t tell me what I would and wouldn’t do. You don’t know,” Bambam says defensively, “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you.”

“How long?” Jackson asks, his arms aching from holding himself up above Bambam.

Bambam lies down on the bed, eyes falling closed and he’s still and quiet as the seconds tick on. He’s quiet long enough that a part of Jackson thinks that he’s passed out and this issue has worked itself into a cliffhanger of a resolution, but then Bambam’s tongue darts out to lick at his lips.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Jackson can’t keep himself up any longer. He lies down on his side in Bambam’s bed, turned facing his best friend, business partner, the person he trusts so much in his life to. He doesn’t know what to say, what to do. Why did they decide to drink tonight? They have to work tomorrow and Jackson is tired, but his stomach is still tingling from when Bambam touched him, from when Bambam kissed him. They’ve kissed before but this didn’t feel like any of those times.

“Why are we even talking about this?” Bambam says, “You’re making it harder than it has to be. Just…don’t think about it. Just fuck me.”

“Bambam, holy shit,” Jackson breathes. He can’t deny the way his cock twitches to life in his basketball shorts. He can’t deny that hearing Bambam talk like this is turning him on.

Bambam turns so he’s close to Jackson. He presses into Jackson’s space and catches his mouth in a second kiss, slow, careful, like he’s expecting to be shoved away, to be punched or knocked off the bed, or for Jackson to get up and run. As they kiss Bambam’s knee presses against Jackson’s crotch and Jackson makes a surprised noise against Bambam’s mouth, his head spinning.

“I…” Bambam breaths, he lets out a small laugh, “I can feel you’re getting hard. You like it? The idea of fucking me? No one’s ever fucked me before..You’d be the first. I–I’m a virgin and you can have me, Jackson.”

“Bambam,” Jackson says, he wants to laugh because this is all so fucking ridiculous but Bambam’s brushing against his cock and offering his body up, and Jackson’s resistance is wearing thin. How long can he fight it? He is getting hard and he hasn’t gotten up to leave. He’s never fucked a guy before, doesn’t know how it works beyond the knowledge that his dick has to fit inside of Bambam.

“You’ve never been with a guy and you want to jump right into being fucked? Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“I watched a couple videos…” Bambam mumbles, “I remember.”

Bambam moves from Jackson and he lies on his back, undoing the button to his jeans before he starts sliding them down, his hands sloppy and uncoordinated and Jackson has to reach down and help tug his jeans off, Bambam throwing them unceremoniously to the floor next to the bed. He lies back on his back, reaches out and touches Jackson’s arm as he glances at him.

Jackson, against every red flag in his brain, shifts so he’s on top of Bambam, covering him with his body, settling between Bambam’s spread thighs. Bambam presses up and kisses Jackson again, hands holding on to Jackson’s forearms. The kissing starts slow but it grows frantic, Bambam’s tongue sliding into Jackson’s mouth, tasting like vodka and artificial watermelon flavoring.

Bambam grinds his hips up against Jackson’s, whimpering into their kiss. Jackson is turning off the logical parts of his brain, the parts that remind him that this is Bambam, and that this is a terrible idea. He’s following instinct, the feeling of want and need, and sex with another person.

From his limited knowledge on the subject Jackson knows that Bambam’s gotta be wet and slick and he breaks their kiss. He presses three of his fingers to Bambam’s red lips.

“Suck,” he says.

Bambam moans, breathy and needy and it makes Jackson’s cock twitch in his shorts. Bambam leans forward and takes all three of Jackson’s fingers into his mouth, wrapping his lips around them and sucking hard, lapping at the digits with his tongue.

“Fuck,” Jackson hisses and that seems to only encourage Bambam further. He grinds upwards against Jackson’s thigh and Jackson can feel him hard in his boxers. It’s strange, but not bad, he’s more relieved to feel Bambam hard too, glad to know that he isn’t the only one.

Bambam looks so pretty with his mouth stretched and full of Jackson’s fingers. He makes these wet noises as he sucks at Jackson’s digits. He’s a drooling, horny, mess and Jackson is so fucking turned on right now. Bambam breaks the seal around Jackson’s fingers so he can catch a breath and Jackson wiggles them, feeling the cool air cling to the spit from Bambam’s mouth.

“Now what?” Jackson asks.

“Now, you finger me,” Bambam says, his face as red as his mouth.

“I…” fuck, that felt intimidating. Jackson’s never been with a guy and while he takes pride in his personal sex skills, he doesn’t think they translate well to Bambam. He doesn’t know how to make Bambam feel good, how not to hurt him. He doesn’t know when to stop, when Bambam is ready.

“Don’t overthink it. Pretend I’m a chick.”

Bambam rolls over on his stomach and then he’s grabbing at his boxers and pulling them down too, they bunch around his knees but Bambam doesn’t seem to mind. He presses his ass in the air, offering himself to Jackson. Jackson’s seen Bambam’s bare ass too many times to count, but never quite like this. He rubs his thumb over the pink ring of muscle and watches Bambam shiver in response. There’s something so hot about watching Bambam react to his touch, some exciting buzz that lingers under the surface of his skin.

If Bambam really were a girl or someone that Jackson usually slept with, he’d tease a little before sinking into her. Jackson rubs at Bambam’s hole and he watches Bambam twitch and gasp and press his face into the pillows as he shivers.

“Have you done this to yourself?” Jackson asks, “Spent nights locked in your room with your fingers up your ass?”

Bambam moans into his pillow, “Y–Yes.”

Jackson shifts and begins to press into Bambam, feels Bambam’s body begin to give and let him in.

Bambam mumbles, shifting his face against the pillow, panting already even as Jackson has only just begun to finger him.

Bambam is ungodly tight around Jackson’s finger, hot and mostly dry, feeling different from a girl, but not bad.

“You’re tight,” Jackson says.

Bambam moans, flings his arm out towards his nightstand. Jackson backs up and pulls out, giving Bambam space, “Here,” Bambam says, digging around in the drawer before tossing something behind his shoulder, a small bottle hitting Jackson in the chest half-a-second later.

Jackson picks up a bottle of lube and pops the cap. The lube is half-full, a clear signifier that Bambam’s been using it. Jackson imagines him in his bedroom after having told Jackson he was going to sleep, he imagines Bambam with a hand over his mouth trying to keep himself quiet as he presses his long, slender fingers into himself, fucks his own ass, maybe imaging Jackson while he does it.

Jackson squirts lube onto his fingers and rubs them together spreading the slickness. He grabs Bambam’s ass to steady himself, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. Jackson rubs over Bambam’s hole again and watches Bambam’s body jolt under his touch.

This time when Jackson presses into Bambam the slide is easier. He moans loud and wet against the pillow and presses back into Jackson’s touch.

“Y–Your fingers are..Are so much bigger than mine,” Bambam says through a shaky breath.

“Does it hurt?” Jackson asks. He feels that odd tightness of Bambam clenching around him, the idea strange and hot all at the same time. This is Bambam unlike he’s ever seen before, but he doesn’t hate it; it’s mesmerizing in a way, addicting to see how Bambam reacts to his touch.

“No..No, it’s a lot but it doesn’t hurt.”

Jackson starts to move his finger inside, fucking lightly into Bambam. He watches the way Bambam’s back arches, how his tan skin is turning splotchy and pink, how his t-shirt is riding up under his arms from the way he’s positioning himself for Jackson. He makes all these little noises as he rocks backwards into Jackson’s touch, tiny gasps and hums that Jackson isn’t sure Bambam’s even aware he’s making.

Jackson ventures to adding a second finger into Bambam, watching his ass stretch around the addition.

“Move ‘em like..a scissor” Bambam says, “You gotta stretch me so I can take you”

“Fuck,” Jackson says, his cock twitching in his shorts. He drops his free hand to his crotch, palming himself through the fabric. He can’t deny how turned on he is, how ready he is to feel Bambam tight around his dick instead of his fingers.

Jackson does what Bambam asks of him. He scissors his fingers inside of Bambam, stretching him, watching Bambam’s hand slide between his own legs, watching him stroke his cock, still making all those sweet little sounds.

“You’re unbelievable, Bambam,” Jackson says, rubbing his hand over the small of Bambam’s back.

Bambam lifts his head, “Jackson, I’m good. Okay? I’m good now. I need you to fuck me”

“Are you sure? You said you’ve never been fucked and I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m sure, I’m sure. I’m ready, I’m so ready.”

Jackson doesn’t remove his fingers right away. He moves his fingers inside of Bambam, stretching him. Bambam clenches around Jackson’s fingers and whines.

“Jackson.”

“Alright, shit, hold your horses, dude.” Jackson pulls his fingers out, wiping them on Bambam’s thigh. He pushes down his basketball shorts and picks up the lube, squeezing some of the clear liquid out onto his palm. If the two of them were sober maybe it wouldn’t be happening so fast, maybe Bambam would need more time, fuck, maybe they wouldn’t have kissed at all.

“You got a condom or?” Jackson asks.

“No..I kept meaning to buy some. Do you?”

“No, it’s been awhile since I’ve gotten laid,” Jackson admits.

“It’s okay,” Bambam says, “I trust you.”

Jackson feels something stir inside of him and he slicks himself up with the lube, groaning as his wet hand strokes his achingly hard dick. His brain feels so fuzzy, he feels like he’s moving in slow motion. He’s tired and horny and has no idea what to do with any of this.

“How do you want to?” Jackson asks, unsure of what would work best or what Bambam wants, if he even knows what would be the best to do.

“Maybe like missionary? I want to see you,” Bambam says. He turns over, rolling onto his back, looking small and soft and pretty in his bed with Jackson hovering over him.

Jackson knee-walks to Bambam. He grabs at Bambam’s boxers and tugs them off the rest of the way. Bambam opens his legs, spreading them to make room for Jackson to settle between them. Like this, he can see Bambam’s hard dick flush against his stomach. He’s a good size when he’s hard. Noted.

Jackson reaches out and he strokes Bambam’s cock, an automatic movement, but Bambam moans loud, arching his back and pressing his head against the pillows. Jackson can see the muscles in his neck, the way his throat moves as he swallows.

“You got a pretty cock,” Jackson says, stroking Bambam from base to tip, rubbing his thumb over the slit in the way Jackson likes to be touched.

“You want me to fuck you sometime?” Bambam says, his eyes closed and his cheeks a soft pink, a huge dumb smile spreading across his face.

He’s kidding, at least Jackson thinks he is, but he can’t help but imagine it. He imagines the reverse, with Bambam bearing down on him, and Jackson spreading his legs, offering himself up for Bambam to take and use. The images makes his dick throb in his hand.

“Let’s just focus on right now.”

Jackson settles over Bambam and he leans in to press a kiss to Bambam’s mouth, their dicks brushing in the process as they move together. The feeling is strange, but electric, making heat flood Jackson’s stomach. He takes his cock in hand and guides himself to Bambam’s hole. The position is strange and Jackson can’t seem to find the leverage he needs to press inside.

“This…I don’t know if I’m doing this right,” Jackson says, feeling big, and clumsy, and dumb.

“It’s not rocket science,” Bambam says, rubbing at Jackson’s arms.

“I know that! It’s my first time with a dude too” Jackson has an idea filter through his head. He takes Bambam’s thin thigh in his hand, lifting his leg, “Here, put your leg over my shoulder, Bambam.”

Bambam complies and he hooks his long spindly leg over Jackson’s shoulder, opening himself up and giving Jackson a better view of his entrance.

“Other one around my waist.”

Bambam follows the order surprisingly well for how drunk he is, hitching his leg high around Jackson’s waist, his heel pressing against Jackson’s lower back. Like this, the positioning is a little easier and Jackson tries to guide himself to Bambam’s hole for the second time.

Bambam makes a soft sharp noise and Jackson goes still. He’s pressing against Bambam’s entrance and already he can feel the pressure, the promising tightness that will clench against him. It takes every ounce of willpower he has to not move a single inch.

“Are you okay?” Jackson asks, staring down at Bambam, checking for any last second changing of minds.

“Yeah,” Bambam nods, “Yeah, I’m okay. You just feel so big there.”

Jackson dips his head and presses a kiss to Bambam’s jaw, “You know how to boost a guy’s ego, huh?”

Bambam’s eyes flutter shut and his hands move to Jackson’s back, his fingers holding onto Jackson’s shirt.

“I’m ready.”

Jackson rolls his hips forward, inches himself inside and he can feel the moment that he begins to sink into Bambam. He can feel when Bambam opens up for him. It’s a slow process and Bambam feels so incredibly, deliciously tight. Jackson’s been on a dry-spell, drunk, turned on like no one would believe, and it takes all he has not to come as soon as he feels that tight heat of Bambam’s body.

Jackson eases himself inside of Bambam, watching Bambam’s face for signs of pain. Bambam’s got his jaw clenched tight, his eyes shut, but he doesn’t look like it’s horrible, just like it’s a lot, like he said before. If Bambam wants Jackson to stop he’ll say it and Jackson waits to hear it, freezing inside of Bambam as he lets them both adjust.

“You feel so good around me,” Jackson says, “Bambam, this is fucking wild.”

“I know,” Bambam says, rubbing at Jackson’s back, “Can you move now?”

Jackson pulls back a little before he rolls his hips forward again, a slow thrust. He’s been drinking so his moves aren’t as coordinated or as smooth as he would usually be, and he hopes Bambam doesn’t judge him too harshly on this experience.

“F–Fuck,” Bambam stutters, biting his lip. His hand drifts down between them, seeking out his dick and stroking himself again.

“Is it getting better?” Jackson asks.

“Yeah, I feel so full..God..I like it.”

Carefully, Jackson builds a slow pace. He rocks into Bambam, listening to the mattress creak under their combined weight, listening to Bambam panting against his neck. Fucking Bambam is good, feels better than Jackson imagined, way better than just his fingers inside of Bambam.

“Jackson,” Bambam moans, “Oh fuck.” He slurs his words, eyes fluttering. Hearing his name coming from Bambam, sounding like that, it makes that heat in his stomach crank up to a boil. How did Bambam sound so good? Feel so good? How was it Bambam that was doing this to him?

Bambam tightens up around Jackson again and Jackson hisses. He was so tight already and the extra squeezing around his cock only made things more intense. The idea seeps into him then, the knowledge that Bambam is a virgin in this sense and it’s Jackson he’s trusting to take it from him, to do this with him for the first time ever. The weight of that feels heavy on his shoulders and he wants to make it good for Bambam, for the both of them.

Jackson speeds up a fraction and Bambam whines, his fingers scraping along the back of Jackson’s head, his thumb rubbing a soothing circle against Jackson’s skin, like Jackson is a human worry-stone.

“You’re okay, right?” Jackson asks, leaning over Bambam and trying to meet his eyes, slowing his thrusts in case Bambam tells him to stop. It feels weird to be so close to Bambam, dizzying almost. Their faces are inches apart and Jackson can feel the hot damp push of Bambam’s panting breaths against his face, a reminder that just a few hours ago the two of them were at work and recording and now…well, now he was fucking Bambam.

Bambam nods, his hands smoothing down Jackson’s broad back.

“I’m fine. You’re so good. Jackson, Jackson, I just..You’re so good to me, Jackson.”

“Don’t go sappy on me while we’re fucking” Jackson says, “if you start weeping or some shit I’m going to lose my boner.”

A lazy grin spreads over Bambam’s face and Jackson thrusts a little harder than before and he watches that grin morph into a moan, watches Bambam’s head fall back and his tongue dart out over his lips.

“Do that again.”

“What?” Jackson asks, “This?” he repeats the motion and he can feel Bambam start to shake under him.

“Oh my God,” Bambam says, his nails biting into Jackson’s skin, “Fuck”

Jackson sets his face against Bambam’s sharp collarbones. He presses a kiss there, sloppy and wet as he starts to build a pace again. It’s hard keeping it even with how tired he feels, how his whole body feels like an anchor and he doesn’t want to crush Bambam under him. It feels damn good and it’s been so long for Jackson that he doesn’t want to come too fast.

“You like it? You like when I fuck you?” Jackson breathes into Bambam’s skin. He earns a whine from Bambam in return, the sound stoking the flames in his belly, encouraging the filth to spill from his mouth and wash over Bambam’s skin like ink, like words on a page, “You like being fucked. You’re a cute little twink just like we all said and all it took was a few drinks in you to get you to spread your legs for me.”

Bambam is shaking under Jackson and he’s panting, shifting his hips and letting his cock rub against Jackson’s belly.

“Did you know from the beginning of the night that you were going to do this? To ask for this? Did you propose the whole idea of getting drunk so I’d fuck you?”

Bambam moans but he doesn’t deny it, doesn’t say no and the idea that their session was serving a greater purpose, was leading to this; it’s kind of a turn-on. Bambam’s a genius and he’s sneaky and Jackson knows both of these facts the same as he knows Bambam can make a plan and he doesn’t put it past him to conjure this idea up.

“You wanted an excuse to be a slut and beg me to fuck you?”

“S–Shit,” Bambam breathes as Jackson fucks him through his words. He’s going faster now, his pace steady, encouraged by his own words and the idea that Bambam set this all into motion, “I–Jackson, I’m getting close. Jackson please don’t stop.”

Jackson shifts, keeps his speed and fucks into the tight heat of Bambam’s body. His mouth finds Bambam’s ear.

“I’m not going to stop until I come inside of you.”

Bambam keens, hands gripping at Jackson’s hips as Jackson fucks him, Bambam’s heels digging into Jackson’s back, “Will you touch me? Touch me please?”

“God” Jackson teases, but he worms a hand between them and grasps Bambam’s dick. He’s on overload, too many things commanding his attention all at once. His thrusts slow down, become sloppy, just going off instinct and his body trying to get as much of Bambam as possible.

Bambam arches into Jackson’s touch, fucks into Jackson’s fist as Jackson strokes him. He rubs over the head of Bambam’s cock, his thumb sliding over the slit and he watches the way Bambam groans, the way his eyes roll into the back of his head like he’s straight out of a Porn Hub video.

“You’re gonna make me cum” Bambam whimpers, “Jackson, fuck, Jackson..” and Jackson doesn’t let up. He’s always liked seeing what he could make Bambam do, what reactions he could get, whether it be from making Bambam eat disgusting shit or tying him up and pouring crappy wine over his face, or now, determined to make him cum. It didn’t matter what it was, he just likes that he’s having an effect on Bambam at all.

Bambam’s panting, squirming, his legs squeezing at Jackson as he whines and then he arches and before Jackson can move his hand Bambam is coming all over him. The feeling is hot and sticky and a little disgusting. Jackson doesn’t even like coming on himself or coming on the people he’s having sex with. He releases Bambam’s twitching cock and watches Bambam crumple to the bed, panting and trying to catch his breath.

Jackson wipes his hand off on Bambam’s belly earning an indignant groan from Bambam.

“It’s your jizz!” Jackson laughs.

“Now I gotta shower before work tomorrow” Bambam says, lying limp and boneless against the mattress.

Jackson’s still inside of Bambam, can feel the fluttering clenching of Bambam’s hole around him. He’s not sure of the protocol. Should he pull out and jerk off? Maybe ask Bambam to jerk him off like he had just done? He’s still trying to figure it out when Bambam runs a hand through his hair and blinks at Jackson.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to stop until you came in me?”

Jackson feels heat spike through him, “Is that what you want?”

“Yeah,” Bambam says, “I want to feel you inside.”

Jackson bears down over Bambam, kisses him a little harder than before, their lips bruising as they meet. He fucks into Bambam’s body and Bambam clings to him, his arms holding Jackson’s, his leg still over Jackson’s shoulder, the other squeezing Jackson’s hip. The two of them are closer than they’ve ever been, maybe as close now as they ever will be again, and Jackson fucks Bambam fast verging on hard and hearing Bambam groan into their kiss.

“Come on,” Bambam breathes against Jackson’s lips, “Cum in me.”

Hearing Bambam say that, it’s embarrassingly enough to push Jackson over the edge. He thrusts into Bambam once, twice, before he’s buried inside completely and he’s cumming with a groan that sounds more like a roar, the heat building up inside of Jackson leaving him in a flush of arousal and need as he fills Bambam up with his cum.

When Jackson can breathe again, when he can think again, he’s lying on top of Bambam, pinning him to the bed, with Bambam’s hands stroking lazy patterns against his skin.

“Sorry,” Jackson says as he eases out of Bambam and rolls over onto his side, cool air clinging to his skin. He feels disgusting and tired, and he’s more confused than when they began. He doesn’t know what to say and Bambam’s being way too quiet.

“Are..Are you going to go to your room?” Bambam asks, his voice oddly soft, making something heavy shift around in Jackson’s gut.

“I don’t know,” Jackson says, because he doesn’t, “Should I?”

“You could sleep here?” Bambam suggests, “Just sleep off the alcohol.”

Jackson’s always been a little soft for Bambam, always lets him get away with shit and do what he wants, and maybe Jackson’s kind of scared shitless. He’s tired, he’s drunk, he’s fucked his best friend tonight. He doesn’t want to be alone, doesn’t want to spiral into a million questions about what happens next, what does any of this mean, a bunch of shit he can’t possibly answer tonight.

For now, right now, he lies down in Bambam’s bed, turning on his side with his back facing Bambam. He feels a blanket being tugged up over them and he feels big hands settling nervously on his side. He feels Bambam pressing against him, his scrawny chest against Jackson’s back.

“Is this…” Bambam starts but Jackson doesn’t let him finish.

“Yeah,” he says, feeling Bambam’s arms squeeze against him, “Yeah.”

They lie there quietly and it isn’t long before Jackson drifts off into an uneasy sleep.


End file.
